End of Day
by Kriven
Summary: The Pikmin are hard workers by day, and atmospheric refugees by night. But what happens when one is forgotten on the surface at the end of the day?


_Oh no!_ He thought, dropping the sheargrub he'd been dragging for half a mile. _Oh no, oh no. It's getting late._

Deep blue streaks had slowly consumed the sky, devouring the pink and purples so subtly that the transition had gone unnoticed. Unnoticed to the poor Pikmin, that is. The grass, on the other hand, was already coming to life. It swayed and rustled, swishing blades back and forth like metal shears. A twig cracked, shouting splintered echoes into the night. Sleepy roars answered, calling all that still slumbered to rouse for the nightly gorging.

The Pikmin glances at the sheargrub and jostled his white bulb. If only he were a flower, maybe he could drag the bug home before the entire forest was awake. But he couldn't just abandon it. The Captain had ordered he specifically to deliver the morsel to his Onion, because only he could traverse through the waters without drowning. All his short life he'd waited to prove himself a worthy member of the colony, overlooked and left behind by the older, faster flowers.

He stomped. Some nearby wogpoles shimmied away, the Pikmin's angry ripples in hot pursuit.

_I have to get it back! I have to!_

He bent down and snatched the bug with tiny blue fingers. The bulb twitched as he looked around, peering into the darkness. The shore was blocked by grass, no telling what lurked behind them. Still, they were the quickest way back to camp. Did he have enough time to make his way to the beach?

The sky darkened from cobalt to sapphire. The beach was out of the question.

With a sigh the Pikmin trudged through the clear spring, accepting the massage of the muck between his toes as the only solace he would receive on his trek. Even if he cut through the bushes, there was a chance he wouldn't make it on time. In fact, he knew that it was very likely he'd be late. The sheargrub was simply too heavy. Even in the water, where it floated easily, it was an anchor he could not afford.

The blue stalk shook with his head as he chased the thoughts away. He allowed himself a deep glug from the pure spring before pushing forward with twice the effort. The water sloshed just above his eyes, occasionally pressing his stalk down and submerging all but the extra buoyant bulb.

Deafened by the water, and nearly blind in the starless sunset, he didn't notice it creep up behind him. Its ripples splashed in with his own and those of the wind. The creature's sensitive whiskers had led it right to a rare, yet highly revered delicacy.

It opened its maw, drawing water and murk into the vacuum. The Pikmin's precious bulb wafted back, teasing the water dumple's purple lips. With a horrifying "_rhomp_" the beast snapped shut. Pain soaked the blue stalk, dripping deep past the Pikmin's forehead. He cried out and shouted for help, but knew his pleas fell only to the salivating bulborbs that were beginning their nightly patrols.

He flailed and splashed, beating the creature's thick hide with his tiny fists. The effort brought little reward, but plenty more curious water dumples. Surrounded, the Pikmin's captor curled back around and roared. This was its kill, and it was going to enjoy it.

Or it would have, had the Pikmin not escaped when the lips opened for the ferocious display. All at once the water dumples dove, losing him in their frenzy but making off with the sheargrub he was tasked to bring home.

_Forget it!_ Thought the Pikmin. _There'll be other bugs._

Dumples hot on his heels, and wollywogs beginning to take note, the Pikmin charged through the water, turning wave after wave with his bouncing bulb until at last he climbed up on the shore. Water slipped from his skin, whipped off by snapping branches and raining to the forest floor. His lungs burned as he raced through grass and bushes. Sapphire became cougar. A mechanical roar blasted through the forest.

The foliage thinned as he fell into the clearing.

_No! No!_

He cried and shouted as the Onions tucked in their legs and spun their propeller leaves. Desperately he rushed into the landing site, not noticing the root upturned by the Dolphin's primary thrust. Dirt stung his eyes as his face planted forward. He coughed and sputtered, tried to pull himself up.

And then the jaws closed in around him.


End file.
